


Token

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Knight [80]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8894635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: A love token.





	

The bunk he’s in isn’t spacious, but then he isn’t an expansive man. He only needs somewhere a little longer than him, and a little wider. He could probably have looked around for somewhere more appealing, but he had a budget to keep to, a line to hide below, and eyes that were gritty from so many hours flying. He’d just wanted to crash, in all honesty.

So the first place that asked few questions, took credit chits, and didn’t mind droids recharging had been fine. Poe is fairly sure this bed isn’t even Human-designed, but he fits, so whatever. 

BB-8′s light pulses slowly as he tops up his fuel cells. Poe’s knapsack is under his pillow (keeping everything safe) with his blaster still strapped in his thigh-holster _just in case_.

Once, this had been adventure. It had been great, knowing he was taking on these small hardships for the Greater Good. And the Greater Good was still important (of course, hence being here), but now he has a reason to hurry back, and it isn’t just the very nice bed and real shower.

It’s Kylo. Yep. That lanky Nerf-herder. Bane of his life, and meaning of it. He’d even accept his cover-thieving ass and cold toes right now, or the hair that got everywhere, or the way Poe would invariably wake up with some part of Kylo imprinted into his skin, hoping the mark would fade before he had to speak to people. The small cot is empty and cold, and Poe hates sleeping without him.

His fingers go to the waxed cord around his throat, pulling out the tiny charm he’d strung, there. He couldn’t wear dogtags in case he was captured, so this was the closest he could come to something identifying: a tiny little metal X, meant (apparently) to both be his X-Wing, and Kylo’s saber. It was a salvaged part from something Kylo had fixed, and he’d given it to him sheepishly. Polished to a high shine, and small enough not to irritate his skin. Poe would worry it with his fingers and thumbs when he was feeling on edge, or bring it up to run across his lips as a good luck charm when he felt the need. 

Right now, he clutches it in his palm, feeling the subtle tug of the cord around the back of his neck. He wonders if Kylo can feel him thinking about him, and thinks even louder, just in case.

BB-8 whirrs an encouragement, and Poe smiles down. “Not much longer, buddy. Then we get to go home.”

The astromech purrs, rocking in satisfaction. It misses Kylo, too.

Poe lets his eyes close, and tries to sleep.


End file.
